


Faultlines

by copacetic



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flower Crowns, I know the courts don't work like this, I stole a Harvey Milk line, Laurence is really bad at talking about his feelings, Lien and Napoleon are off being happy in France, M/M, Oh and I stole a PG Wodehouse character, Pining, Tharkay is such a polyglot, but the napoleonic wars are over, forced bedsharing, laurence is such a failboat, look I just need Lien to be happy somewhere, or anything else really that is not a ship, pretty much everybody is gay, shhh go along with it, some stuff is borrowed from sense and sensibility, spoilers through blood of tyrants, the dragons are also way into wedding planning, the dragons are gossipy matchmakers, the dragons prompt a feminist revolution, which would make Laurence Marianne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copacetic/pseuds/copacetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, and now they have to pick up the pieces. Tharkay receives a letter, and Laurence proposes marriage to return Tharkay's estate and undo an old wrong. But he might have gotten himself into more than he can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where gay marriage is legal and accepted in Napoleonic era England. Sodomy laws, what sodomy laws?
> 
> Or, I try to cram as many fandom tropes and crack into one story. I tried to research Scottish inheritance laws and bathing habits in the late 18th century and got distracted watching YouTube clips from Braveheart and Robbie Burns' poetry. The result is plot devices. So, so many plot devices. Feel free to point out any inaccuracies that bother you. This is basically me trying to make everyone in the story happy. Except for Rankin. 
> 
> Much thanks to maximusboltagon, henryiiofficial, and annicron. I shamelessly stole headcanons and ideas from all of you. I adore the Temeraire fandom, and I read so many posts late at night while my children were asleep while cackling madly. It's hard for me to find things again on tumblr. If you notice a plot point that I stole from you, please let me know so I can credit you!

For all his father disdains balls, he does put on a good one. Laurence's mother has thrown this in honor of Demane's official promotion to captain. She has gotten in the habit of throwing them. It’s a kind way of her to show her support for the aviators and their dragons, and Laurence does appreciate it, but he would do better with easier company.

Laurence picks at his food at dinner. His mother has seated him between his father and brother, no doubt to encourage displays of filial affection. Lord Allendale and Laurence have never fully made up the grudge, although his mother has certainly tried her best over the years. They do manage to speak about his nephews and nieces, haltingly and with much communicated in between words. His mother is on the other side of his father, but she is in much discussion with Wilberforce. 

Edith Woolvey is there as well, seated far away. Laurence managed to catch her eye when they were sitting down, smile and bow his head. She had smiled back, gently. Laurence is sad to see new lines on her face, although her hair is as golden as ever. 

His father asks about Emily Roland's health and future prospects, which Laurence does not know how to answer. Lord Allendale offers again to find a suitable position for her, to provide for her future and hopeful marriage. He is very aware of his brother's interest in the conversation. He finally settles for baldly saying, "She is next in line to captain her mother's dragon, Excidium. I believe that you are previously acquainted with her mother, Admiral Roland?" 

His father unexpectedly smiles slightly. "Yes, your mother had her over for a dinner party during the war. She caused quite a stir, although the ladies ended up taking to her well enough." Laurence is faintly shocked over such approbation from his father. "No, I am glad. Young Roland seems like she takes after her mother, I am sure that she will be a credit to the service." 

Laurence murmurs his assent. The second course is taken away and dessert provided, which offers him distraction enough to talk to his brother George about his youngest. His children are his weak spot, to be sure, so this occupies the rest of the meal. 

Demane and Emily open up the dances. Demane has his hair cropped short, and a new jacket and breeches. Laurence notices approvingly that he has shined his shoes, and presents a very neat figure. 

Lady Allendale has obviously thought of their dragons. The dancing hall has been opened at one end to the lawn, where the dragons are allowed to lounge in the cool spring air. With resignation, Laurence can already hear Temeraire commenting on ladies' jewelry. Iskierka jets out steam in non verbal commentary. Kulingile towers over the crowd, his golden scales oiled and shining. Lady Allendale serenely stands next to Kulingile's right. She welcomes people into conversation with Kulingile and gently prompts their congratulations on his captain's promotion. Soon small knots of people congregate gingerly around Kulingile. 

Temeraire soon is discussing the finer points of silk and gems with the society ladies. Laurence is slightly surprised to find Edith next to him. Laurence is too far away to catch most of their conversation, so he drifts closer. 

"Why, of course women should be allowed the vote." Temeraire is saying, quite seditiously and loudly. Laurence despairs of ever teaching him caution. "I properly do not see why dragons cannot be allowed the vote, either, really, especially if they own property and are not officious and silly like some dragons I could name." Here his voice drops into what he probably thinks of as a whisper. "I do not think I ever heard a word of sense from Maila, for example. If I have a vote, I need to know that he would not have one either." 

Edith murmurs gently, but Laurence is happy to see a faint smile on her lips. "As the dragon in question is Incan, he would of course have no citizenship and thus be unable to vote in a British election.” Temeraire lifts his ruff in agreement. She continues, “I am convinced in myself that your advancement will continue with ours. While of course individuals are often able to make excellent judgment regarding ethical questions, it is really only the whole of society brought together that can make the correct decision for all parties. When the same select group is allowed to be the only one making decisions for everyone, it is unsurprising that they only reliably vote for their self aggrandizement." Edith finishes off this frankly radical speech with a smile. 

The others that were covertly listening are unable to make more of a response since Temeraire blithely says, "Anyone who has any sense at all would not argue with that, I am sure." Laurence can see several ladies eyeing his large serrated teeth and deciding not to speak. Edith smiles again, a little triumphantly. Laurence realizes that if anyone arguing with women's suffrage is faced with an angry dragon who regards their advancement as his own, the fight for enfranchisement will be considerably easier. 

Laurence notes Iskierka still has a generous circle of empty space around her except for Granby, who reclines in her claws and taps his foot with the music. Neither seem to mind. 

Laurence walks closer to Edith and Temeraire. Temeraire calls out joyously to him. "And only look at how handsome you look today, Laurence. I like the buttons on your coat especially well, and does his sword not look lovely? It was a present from me, you must know." This he addresses to Edith, Laurence notes glumly. 

"Why thank you, Temeraire," he says gamely. "Mrs. Woolvey, it is so good to see you again. I hope you and your family are in good health?" 

"They are, thank you for asking. My youngest, James, recently turned seven." Here Temeraire offers his congratulations, although he also wants to know if she is interesting yet to talk to at this age. Laurence has not been able to answer his questions on childhood development to his satisfaction in the past, so he jumps into interrogating Edith with aplomb. 

She neatly dodges his question regarding how babies are birthed by saying, "With much yelling, crying, demanding, and running around for hot water. Of course, I am speaking of the husband." Temeraire is clearly dissatisfied with this answer. "James and Eliza both walked at fourteen months of age," she continues calmly, not seeming affronted by the previous turn of conversation. "Bertie walked at thirteen, although he only did it once to show me he could, and spent until eighteen months insisting that he needed to be carried everywhere still." Here her voice catches a moment, and she looks away. 

Laurence knows they must have inadvertently conjured up a painful memory, and says quickly, "I apologize if we have reminded you of your loss. I am, as always, so sorry. He was a brave man."

Edith sniffs delicately and her tears stay in her eyes. "The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away." An awkward pause descends. She continues, "I have had several people suggest remarriage as a way to solve my problem." She lifts her chin in scorn. "I am far too active with my children. And my political aims keep me busier still. I find the idea distasteful in the extreme. As if my husband was a horse,or a carriage, to go to the stables and buy another- there can be no comparison." 

Laurence swallows painfully. He pastes on a faint smile. "A second attachment often proves unsuitable as a matter of experience, I might say. There are some who are able, but I find myself unable to reliably expect them to happen. A heart, once given, is a dreadful thing to try and bestow the dregs on another. No doubt it could not prove acceptable to either party." 

He abruptly closes his mouth, fearing that he has spoken too blatantly for courtesy. But he does feel it, feels the despair at ever finding another who would answer his idea of happiness. Jane he realizes, he loves and cares for, but she does not want to marry- or at least not marry him. And he wants marriage. He wants to belong to someone who is not Temeraire, for all his good qualities he makes a poor spouse. A part of him had still selfishly hoped to turn Edith's affections back toward himself. As that part withers from lack of air, Laurence cannot help but feel a painful twist in his gut. Edith smiles faintly and sadly. 

"Ah, Tharkay." Temeraire says, a little quickly for it to be believable to not be in relief. Laurence turns and welcomes him to the conversation with as much relief, but is at least able to hide it better. 

Later, Laurence is watching the dancing with Tharkay. They have drifted away to enjoy their cigars and port decorously far from the ladies, pulling their chairs to sit by Temeraire's tail on the grass. Tharkay has been largely silent, listening to the music and to Laurence, when he feels compelled to speak. He had tried to introduce several topics, but they have all died under Tharkay's steady silence. Laurence finally divines that Tharkay must enjoy the music too much to allow for discussion. 

Tharkay's lips part, as if he is about to speak. Laurence inclines his head, finding himself closer than he had thought. He leans in, watching Tharkay's lips, waiting for him to speak. Tharkay stops, moistens his lips, Laurence watching his tongue dart out. "Will, what are your thoughts regarding-" 

Here Rankin's voice rings out. "Yes, I have been previously acquainted with Captain Laurence-" here a slight pause in front of Captain, and the name itself said with the utmost dubiousness, "There is no need to introduce us, pray make yourself easy. I have only come because my dragon wished to come and hear the music." And issue silent but well felt condemnation on Demane and all who would wish him well, Laurence mentally adds. He can see Caesar's tail peeking out from behind Temeraire's bulk. Temeraire sniffs judgmentally and flicks his own tail, rather like a cat when thwarted. Luckily it does not impact Laurence or Tharkay. 

Caesar makes a disparaging noise. "It is not as nice as the balls we have had at your estate, is it not, my dear captain?" 

Rankin's companion says something neutral and hurries them away, no doubt fearful of incurring further displays from Temeraire.

Laurence had found no polite way to alert his mother to except Rankin from the invitation, which she had opened up to all the aviators that she was able to obtain addresses for. As a decorated war veteran, recently returned from Australia, whom she knew was well acquainted with her son, Lady Allendale had naturally thought him a worthwhile addition. 

Tharkay continues, the set of his mouth almost suggesting he is about to do something unpleasant. "Will, I have been fortunate enough to meet with an American dragon who has made it clear that they are interested in dragons who are looking for work. I believe that you, or at least Temeraire, have been previously acquainted with him, a John Wampanoag.” Laurence settles back in his chair, obscurely disappointed. “I find that staying in Britain is rapidly palling, and would like to see North America.”

The objections seem immediately obvious. “But I do not know, Tenzing, if Temeraire can yet be spared from service. I will have to inquire with Admiral Roland before anything could be attempted. However, I will also caution you about attempting to leave Britain before it has been cleared with the service as well. We can always use a man such as yourself in the Corps, you know. And Temeraire looks on you quite as his own. We would be most sad to see you leave-” me, he almost finds himself saying, quite unaccountably, a stab in his throat- “the corps.” He finishes firmly.

Tharkay’s dark eyes look strangely resigned. “I have heard it said before, Captain, that where there is a Will, there is a way.”

Laurence smiles uncertainly. He strangely feels as if something is moving under his comprehension, treacherous shoals under the water. He says lightly, “My mother used to tell me the same thing.”

Tharkay looks solemn. “I am sure your obligations to the Corps and to Britain, considering how many times they have tried to hang you, are not as indissoluble as you think.”

Laurence mildly assents, but they return to silence. He finds it more tolerable than before, however. He has always enjoyed Tharkay's presence, at least once they had achieved modicum of friendship, and he finds now no exception. 

Rankin's voice drifts over, the full content impossible to grasp, but the tone unmistakable. "Damn that man." Laurence says abruptly, nearly peevishly. "He is always arrogant and supercilious." 

"That's not entirely true." Tharkay returns. "At times, he is asleep."


	2. Chapter 2

Laurence waits several days before he proposes. He tries to think of the best way to phrase it, or what mood he should attempt to catch her in. They have not been intimate since his taking the cure to France, but they have corresponded as much as possible. He never had a frank conversation with her regarding this, however, and hopes that she would be amenable to marriage. 

She has invited him up for a hand of piquet. Roland is frowning at her cards and sips her wine. Steeling himself, Laurence manages, "Jane. I have been thinking." 

"Good lord, again?" Roland says, her tone fond but a little worried. "What has Temeraire said now?" 

"Well, much and more. But that is not the point. Jane," he says, finding it almost physically difficult to say the words, knowing that she is likely to reject his suit again. "Would you marry me?" 

Jane smiles, still fond but a little sad now too. "Oh, Will. Of course I will not. You are a dear for still offering, but I am the last woman that would make you happy as a wife." 

Laurence stares at his own hand of cards. He rather feels that he should be sad, however, rather than actually feeling sad. It has been a while now that the passionate side of their time together faded, but it is still uncomfortable. 

"You do not wish to be married, or you do not wish to be married to me?" He finally says, his tone not bitter, but evenly inquiring. 

She snorts at that. "Truly, not to be married at all, although I do not know how important that distinction is in the present case. But do not mope around if I do choose to get married later. I cannot think of who the lucky man would be, but I do reserve the right to change my mind. No, Will, you will make someone a wonderful husband, but it will not be me. I do not want to make a home and have children, and you do. I have had my daughter, and I love her to distraction, but I do not want any more." She turns her head and shrugs. "It is also because of the job. Aviators and marriage do not go together." 

Not sure entirely why he is saying it, Laurence says, "Emily seems likely to be married." Demane had had an expression of gleeful joy during his dances with Emily. 

"We all have to make our own way in this world, men and women alike. And dragons, ha. My daughter is her own woman. I have always raised her to make her own choices. I ask her only to make good ones. And if her and Demane have discussed it between them and their dragons, and come to an understanding, why should I object? It has little and less to do with me." Her tone changes, becomes almost chivvying. "I am sure you will land on your feet, Will. If you want to be married, think of whom in your circle that has stuck by you and never let you down. I am sure a name will come to mind." She grins at him behind her wineglass, raising it again. At Laurence's blank look, she begins to look exasperated. "Will, you might be one of the thickest men I know, though I love you. I was not certain until you came back to England but it's plain as the nose on your face, I have seen the way you look- no. You really do not know?" She lets out a sigh. "Well, I shan't be the one to spoil the surprise. Will, this conversation is not over, but I have probably given you enough to think about for now. I will call on you later, yes?" She shakes his hand, adjusts her coat, and strides out of the room, unbowed and unafraid.


	3. Chapter 3

"I suppose, if you do not mind losing all taste and elegance, Iskierka is a good wedding planner." Temeraire confides to Laurence as they fly. 

Laurence is glad that there is no one around to hear him speak so rudely. Temeraire and Iskierka still seek each other's company, and are united in their interest in the weekly reports from China of the egg's progress, but Temeraire has stopped any pretense of politesse. 

"Have you seen the grooms' coats, then?" Laurence asks. Granby had showed him his wedding coat in mute horror earlier in the week. Laurence had not managed to stifle his laughter and Granby had smacked him with his hook. 

Laurence appreciated the difficulty in persuading Iskierka to do anything she wanted to do, and it was clear that Granby had not even tried with the wedding clothes. 

Temeraire assents. "Laurence, I was speechless. However," no doubt he thought this was the height of discretion, Laurence thought with some amusement, "Iskierka did happen to mention the tailor that she ordered them from. Can we maybe stop by and order you something, not as gaudy and uselessly fine, but befitting your station? I know you cannot be always wearing your robes, but Laurence, you know how I feel about your coats. At least some gold buttons and braid- you are a Chinese prince, let us not forget-" 

Laurence patted his neck comfortingly, as Temeraire started to spiral down into a descent. "I will look into it, my dear."

Temeraire landed, in a field slightly apart from the church. It would be the site of the reception, a pleasant June day promising clear skies. Already people were setting up the tents and tables. Evidently dragons had already been setting down in preparation, so there was no hue and cry raised. Temeraire shakes out his ruff in displeasure and puts his ears back. 

"My dear, whatever is wrong?" Laurence asks, genuinely at a loss. 

"Whenever you say that you will look into something, that is your polite way of saying you never will and it will never get done. Is it not, Laurence?" 

Laurence gapes. "Do I? I admit, I am not that excited about braid on my coat. We are tolerably well in pocket, but extravagance is not the answer. However," he belatedly remembers Tharkay's offer, and thinks that maybe Temeraire does have a point about his evasive tactics, "I have just recalled that Tharkay made an offer, and I wanted to speak to you regarding it." 

Temeraire's tail switched, a sign of impatience. "Yes, yes, but what would that have to do with money or coats, Laurence?" 

Laurence sets off at a walk toward the church, Temeraire disgruntledly following. "He has met with John Wampanoag, who has offered a position with shipping in his firm. I do not know if we can be spared from the service-" 

"Oh, but how wonderful, Laurence!" Temeraire's tail lifts up in delight. "Of course it is that kind of offer. Would Tharkay be accompanying us as well, do you know?" Temeraire inquires. 

"I am not sure, my dear. He did imply that he wanted to see North America as well, so I think it likely he would at least travel with us so far as Boston, or one of the larger cities." 

This Temeraire clearly dismisses. "Of course, he would not get that far and then allow us to leave him behind. Nor would I allow it, either. Are you certain that he cannot be permanently assigned to my crew, Laurence? All this fuss about him going about with Arkady, it is enough to drive me mad. As if Arkady ever did anything good for him. He got him captured and tortured, and did not seem to care in the slightest." Laurence quite liked the line about the fuss, when Temeraire was the only one fussing. 

Laurence assures him that he will ask the next time he sees Admiral Roland. They pause outside the church. They are still a little early, and the air is pleasant and warm. Laurence knows that as soon as he goes in, Temeraire will merely go off and gossip with the other dragons. There is already an impressive cluster congregating outside the church doors. Granby had arranged for them to be kept open during the service so that the dragons could properly be able to see. 

"But Laurence, I still do not understand why you give tuppence about Government's opinion on what you do. Admiral Roland's opinion is acceptable, I suppose, but since they have tried to execute you so many times, and lost you, and transported you, I do not see how Government has a say." 

Thankfully Immortalis saves Laurence from having to reply to such a seditious speech (although he grimly remembers Tharkay making a similar point, and privately cannot say that they are wrong). After a brief greeting, he satisfiedly points out all the flowers and the decorations for the wedding. 

"Seven courses for dinner, too!" He says proudly. "I was in charge of the flowers. And you will have a surprise at your chairs- I should not even mention it-" Laurence doesn't think he's hardly heard this many words out of Immortalis in his entire acquaintanceship. "But you will see. I hope everyone will be well pleased." He finishes, evidently deciding to keep the secret, even though Temeraire has cocked his head to the side wheedlingly. "Why, there is Iskierka. I must go see if she needs something. I must say," here Immortalis drops his voice to something approaching confidential, "Augustine and John would have been quite lost without us, you know. They would have probably just been married quietly in town, with only a handful of people. And not even any new wedding clothes! Coming, Iskierka!" He calls, clearly catching her irritation at his delay, and leaves swiftly. 

The only thing Laurence can do is laugh.


	4. Chapter 4

The ceremony is classically lovely. Laurence is always reassured by the rhythm and expectations of an excellent service. 

The minister clearly knows Little better than Granby. During his sermon he refers to him familiarly, recalling how proud his parents were of him when he went into the service and how proud they are today, watching him marry the man of his dreams. Iskierka's steam noises, discernible clearly through the open doors, let out a definitive pleased whistle. A woman that Laurence identifies as Little's mother, due to her golden dress and similarity to Little, audibly cries at this as well. 

It really is a surprise that they can walk under the weight of medals and cloth of gold piping, Laurence thinks. The coats clearly started out aviator bottle green. Iskierka had thought better of it, however. The epaulettes, braid, and what she no thought of as subtle touches did make them attractive to magpies. 

But it doesn't seem to matter to Little or Granby. They sit on the dais, next to the altar and minister, their hands clasped and faces wreathed in smiles. Laurence could not think of a couple he had seen who looked happier on their wedding day. 

The seven courses are all that had been promised. Laurence is allowed to sit next to Temeraire, and he sees that thoughtfully this was provided for in the assigned seating. Jane and Excidium sit together, as did Chenery and Messoria, and Catherine and Lily. Iskierka and Immortalis take pride of place, sitting on either end of the long table. Tharkay, Ferris, and Forthing round out Laurence's table, Forthing accompanied by his wife and son. Forthing has obviously taken the care with his appearance that Temeraire has always wished for, and his young son is also shined and polished to an inch of his life. Temeraire gently murmurs his approval as they sit. There are flowers mounded on the tables, a profusion of roses and daisies. 

Jane makes a speech, and Laurence is called up to the duty as well. He had known it was coming, and had already prepared some remarks. 

He has already had a few glasses of a really excellent wine to fortify him, and manages to get through it gracefully. He speaks about their courage, and their Christian love for each other, and asks for blessings on their marriage. He got a cheer at that, although he is certain that as he was one of the most sober guests, he probably would have gotten a cheer if he would have asserted he was a cask of wine. Maybe even more so. 

"That was quite well done, Laurence." Temeraire asserts as he returns to his seat. "Very regal." He hiccups. 

Laurence notes that Iskierka has evidently spared no expense, and had wine in quantities enough prepared for the dragons as well, laid out in huge bowls. Temeraire is obviously unused to this, and has become increasingly affectionate with Laurence. Laurence is knocked out of his chair twice by an enormous nose. As Iskierka had gained enough prizes during the war to be very well in pocket, he cannot disapprove of the profligacy. 

Although he is afraid of trying to fund a drinking habit for a twenty ton dragon if Temeraire takes to it. 

When everyone is even more pleasantly tipsy (Laurence sees Tharkay even smiling) Little stands up and clap his hands. Immortalis looks even more pleased than before. "I have been asked to make an announcement. If everyone would look toward the center of the table, you will find that you can wear the flowers, if you please." Laurence eyes the heaps of flowers on the center of his table, which he had taken for centerpieces. 

He looks back and sees that Granby is leaning back and smiling as Little places a garland of pink roses on his head. Little is wearing a matching set, and the two men then turn and put a truly impressive amount of roses on their dragons' heads as well. 

Temeraire exclaims, "What a lovely idea! Laurence, put one on, pray do." Laurence surrenders to pressure. His own and Temeraire's are pink and red roses. Even Tharkay deigns to put one on. Forthing's son giggles with delight when Forthing lets him put flowers on for him and his wife. 

Iskierka lifts herself up and demands a toast, and then another one. His memory becomes a little choppy after that, scenes leading directly into another. He sees Temeraire graciously adjusting the flowers on his crew's' heads when they become askew, absurdly tiny in his talons. The dancing has started, Little and Granby starting it out. Berkley leading Catherine out, both of them laughing. He sees Jane, her garland rakishly crooked on her hair, speaking with Tharkay at her table. Tharkay only has one flower in his hair now, a bright red rose that almost glows against his dark hair and skin. 

The evening shades into the night as Laurence stays in his chair, drinking when he is called to, with Temeraire a steady warmth at his side. Forthing and Mrs. Forthing leave their table for the dancing, their son running around with other children and dancing as well. Laurence suddenly looks up and realizes that he is alone at their table. Temeraire still has his tail next to him, the tip twitching erratically, but he has his head with another knot of dragons. Their gossiping is loud enough to wake the dead. Laurence cannot find it in himself to mind, although he does feel suddenly lonely. 

Jane sits next to him. He smiles easily at her. They talk of small things at first, laughing at the dragons drinking wine. "Drunk as lords!" Jane says, and he agrees. 

"You should go to America, you know." She says. Laurence supposes that Temeraire, dissatisfied with delay, had asked her already. "With the war over, your regiment is not so necessary for the Channel. You can easily be spared. If I present it as a means of distracting Temeraire, their lordships might even pay his way." The look she gives him is frank and direct, no hint of pity. 

Laurence lets out a breath. "He has talked to you about it, then." She nods. "What do you think I should do?" He asks, the wine loosening his tongue.

"Lord, Laurence, I do not think it much of a question. I would go. Maybe you can even play piquet with Tharkay, one of those nights in America." At this she smirks, as if she's made quite a joke, and stands and claps him on the shoulder. He does enjoy piquet, Laurence thinks muzzily. "Good to catch you, Laurence. Tell me whenever you would like to go." She walks off, whistling jauntily.

He feels empty when he thinks about traveling. He doesn't want to give up on England. But everyone seems to be conspiring to send him to a place he doesn't want to go. 

Selfishly, he still wants to keep everyone around him. Maybe he will talk to Hammond, he thinks distantly. He could use Tharkay's skill with languages to train diplomats, to be sure. And then he wouldn't run away to North America. Not if he had a steady employment, and the respect he had never had before from the English establishment. 

Laurence finally tucks his chin down. The music has slowed down, the viols playing a plaintive air. The cool night air moves through his hair, almost as if the fingers of a lover. One moment to the next, he falls asleep. 

His last thought is, if he doesn't bring it up with Temeraire, he shall surely forget this silly idea of traveling North America.


	5. Chapter 5

Laurence is taking afternoon tea with Tharkay when the letter arrives. He has studiously avoided mentioning North America to anyone in the intervening time. His stratagem seems to have worked so far. 

Temeraire woke up the morning after Granby's wedding with a headache and insisted on sleeping in until an ungodly hour. He has not mentioned North America, although much muttering was made about strong drink. It had reminded Laurence of O'Dea's charmingly habitual pronouncements. 

It has only been a few days, but Laurence is cautiously optimistic that he can continue to ignore the situation. Temeraire is much in demand for parties and political strategy meetings with Wilberforce and his compatriots. He is already on to more ideas, more parties, more people. He won't remember North America in a week. 

Laurence himself feels unanchored since the war. Everyone else has picked up their pieces, and he's still shuffling about on the floor. 

They are in the common room of the aviators' barracks. Tharkay seems distant, somehow, quieter than usual. Rankin had made a sneer across the room when he had at first entered, which Laurence thinks has contributed. 

Laurence knows that he is banned from dueling. When Rankin makes loud comments about Chinamen, leaving the room in a sweep of perfectly pressed coat, Laurence thinks longingly of damning them all and demanding satisfaction. 

Even if he only wounded him, it would be very agreeable to watch him limp around and maybe fall over and cry. Laurence sometimes imagines it more than a gentleman should. 

The objections of the corps he could have ignored, but not the wishes of Tharkay himself. He had once asked him privately to take no offense on his behalf with Rankin. So Laurence feels constrained from shooting the fellow, more's the pity. 

Laurence ignores Rankin's discourtesy resolutely. He sips his tea and eats his sandwiches, discussing pleasantly the newest orders come from the Admiralty, and what Harcourt has been telling him about young Tom, and the next party that Lady Allendale is planning. Tharkay answers absently, stirring sugar in his tea. 

"Mail's come!" A servant bustles through the room, bestowing letters as he goes. Laurence has long become accustomed to the lack of formality among aviators, and accepts his letters along with a merry, "Here you go, sir! And for you, Mr. Tharkay, if you please." 

The last few aviators taking their tea receive their letters and leave, leaving the room to only Laurence and Tharkay. Laurence only has two letters. One is from his mother, and another for Temeraire from Perscitia. He tucks them away in his coat for later. 

He wonders who is sending Tharkay letters. He suddenly fears that a letter from North America has come, full of promises. He feels a clawing discontent enter his breast. Laurence tries to give him his privacy, but cannot help glancing over. 

Laurence is surprised to see Tharkay look almost shocked. He is pale under his tan, and intently reading the lines of a missive. Laurence notices the quality paper. The envelope lies open and discarded among the tea things, and Laurence guiltily allows himself a glance at the postmark. 

It is from Scotland. 

Tharkay quickly puts the letter down, as if to separate himself from it. A furrow creases his brow, and he looks unhappy. "Bad news?" Laurence ventures. 

Tharkay merely twists his lips and flicks his fingers, as if throwing something away. "News, certainly. Perhaps not bad, but too late to do me any good." 

He appears content to leave this here. Laurence feels curious, however, and entreats him to continue. "For I hope it is not about leaving England, Tenzing. I have spoken to Hammond and he agrees that-" 

Here Tharkay stops him with a hand, palm forward. "I thank you, Will, but I have no particular need to be employed as a diplomat, or to train them, if that was what you were to suggest, although I thank you for thinking of me. No," here he looks down, to the side, almost as if in an old pain, "My uncle, the only living relative that I have except for in Nepal, has died." 

Here Laurence feels his mistake, and apologizes. 

"No, no." Tharkay shakes his head. "It has been many years since we have been friendly with each other, and I truly do not know if he ever liked my presence. It is one of the failings of childhood to regard even negligent caretakers with affection, but he ruined even that for me years ago. No," here he jerks his head, as if shaking off an unpleasant thought, "No. But with Alistair's death without any issue, my father's estate is open for me to make a suit. It is from the steward of the estate that this letter comes. He must have heard that I had taken up with the aviator corps, enough to figure out my direction." 

Laurence tries to collect his thoughts. "So, is this not a good thing?" He tentatively inquires. "You would be the natural incumbent, would you not?" He is not expecting a full answer, and is surprised to receive it. 

"I was supposed to inherit on my father's death, instead of my uncle. However, Alistair had heard of my engagement to Sara Maden. He slipped language into my father's will to the effect that I would be unable to inherit unless I was married, or at least engaged, to a person in good standing with the Church of England. I called an inquest, since the addendum was written in a different hand, but they ended up finding irregularities with my parents' own marriage. My mother was raised Buddhist, naturally, although she did formally convert to marry my father. I doubt whether she converted in her heart, but it is of no account. On paper, the marriage was legal, but they decided it was invalid." This is the most that Laurence has ever heard of Tharkay's history. He has guessed bits and pieces, of course. But for him to lay out the whole shows a great deal of trust. 

Laurence frowns. "This seems outrageous. And you had no recourse?" 

Tharkay sneers, an unexpectedly ugly expression on his face. "I could have kept fighting, perhaps, but Alistair made it clear that he had the court in his pocket. They were not inclined to look favorably on my claim due to reasons of their own, as well." His face stills, becomes masklike, as he continues in a dull tone, as if reciting historical events that happened to someone else. "He asked their lordships to look at the color of my skin, and the color of his, before they accepted me as a true born son. To a man, they ruled in his favor. The court ruled me a bastard, and stripped me of my father's surname." 

Laurence gapes. "But this is abominable! Something must be done." He stands up and paces, too angry to sit still. 

"It was many years ago, Will. And I am too tired of arguing with stupid bigoted men to even make the attempt." Tharkay says, almost placating. "It is not worth the time to involve myself further. There are some cousins, very distantly related. They will stand to inherit. I am well shut of the mess." 

"Marry me." Laurence says, hardly hearing the words out of his own mouth for the roaring in his ears. Tharkay pales. "Tenzing, I am in good standing with the church. Many of the men who stood in that court are now dead, from war or old age. We can argue your case afresh-" 

Tharkay's face is now red. "We can do what, Will, pray tell. We can go back to that awful place and lie-" here his voice becomes louder- "lie about about our relationship? So I can embroil myself again in their craven politics, and embarrass myself in front of an open court again, hat in hand like a beggar?" 

Laurence shakes his head desperately. This is the only thing to do, why cannot he see that? If Tharkay had a reason to stay in Britain, that would be all he needs. "No, no, Tenzing, for myself and Temeraire would be there as well. You would not be alone in court again. We would be there with you."

Tharkay's nostrils flare. Color is still high on his cheeks. "No, Will. That is kind of you to offer, but no." He nearly spits the last words, but then his voice gentles, becoming resigned again. "I will not cavil over what should have come to me years ago. If it was meant to in the first place, that is." He sighs, looks away. "It has been too long for me to stay in England, in any road. I am well quit of this place." He stands to go, picking up his coat from the back of the chair and leaving the letter. 

"No." Laurence says blankly. "Tenzing, please. Marry me." He sinks to one knee, uncaring of the rough floor. Tharkay pauses at the door, coat over his arm, slowly turning around. Laurence is suddenly grateful for the lack of spectators to this conversation as the realization of their positions intrude. He is making a fool out of himself, it seems. 

Tharkay looks at him for a moment, just looks. Laurence feels uncomfortably stripped bare, waiting for judgement- whether he will get disdain or approval, he cannot predict. Tharkay looks suddenly unsure, fidgets, in a surprising display of vulnerability. He sounds almost plaintive as he says, "Do you mean it?" 

Why would Laurence offer to help a friend in jest, he wonders. But the other part says with assurance, "Of course, Tenzing." 

Tharkay looks to the side again, ducks his head and then comes over to help pull Laurence up, lifting him up into his space. "You are a one, are you not?" Suddenly affection enters his tone. He looks pleased. Laurence's mouth goes dry- he must need more tea. Tharkay is very close, their hands still clasped, his face a scant few inches from Laurence's own. 

The servant returns, and Laurence startles, pulling away and out of Tharkay's gentle grasp. She does not pay them any mind, only stacking cups in order to bring back to the kitchens to clean. Laurence coughs slightly, pulling on his shirt and neckcloth to rearrange them. His neckcloth must have been tied too tight this morning, as he is unaccountably warm. Tharkay still has a faint smile on his lips. "I suppose I have a letter to answer." Is all he says, throwing his coat on and picking up the letter on the way out. "I will write to you as soon as I know more, Laurence." 

Laurence watches him leave, wondering vaguely what he has gotten himself in to now. He supposes that he will have to go and talk to Temeraire.


	6. Chapter 6

He finds Temeraire out on the paddock, sunning himself in the summer breeze. They have rented a house on the outskirts of London to spend time when their duties allow. Temeraire has drawn up plans for many splendid pavilions, but has not yet committed himself to any particular one or place. He is tolerably well in funds for the moment, but has been proving himself to be a most particular home buyer. 

Laurence is able to break his news with a minimum of fanfare. He knows that Tharkay has always been a favorite, but he is afraid of bringing up Temeraire’s previous plans for traveling. Fortunately, it seems to be not on his mind once he understands.

"This is perfect, Laurence! Let me be the first to congratulate you. I have not heard news which has made me happier in a long time, dear Laurence." Temeraire enthuses. Laurence tries to restrain his joy, but cannot stem the flow. "It is everything that is delightful. Of course, there can be no question of Tharkay riding Arkady, now. And I have to give some serious thought to the wedding clothes as well." He says. Deep, almost indecent satisfaction colors his voice. He pays no attention to Laurence raising his hands for calm. "Do you think Tharkay's estate is likely to have many cows, or do you think more sheep, Laurence? We can perhaps even put in a pavilion. The floor will have to be heated, of course, it is very cold in Scotland. And we would be close to Loch Laggan, and all of our friends there. Perscitia is teaching at the University of Glasgow, as I am sure you know from reading her last letter. And I can ask the direction for the tailor that Iskierka used. What color should I order for Tharkay's coat? Oh, green of course, he persists in going around in that ugly old brown thing, I cannot wait to buy him a new coat. Oh, Laurence." He noses at Laurence, at last at a loss for words. "It is everything that is delightful." He repeats. 

Laurence fears he has raised his hopes too high too fast. "Do not forget," he tries, "my dear, that we still must wait for the Scottish court to rule in his favor. Much and more can happen between here and then." 

This Temeraire clearly refuses as a reason to dampen down his delight. "I do not see what that has to do with the price of fish. A bunch of ninny hammers in odd clothes, or so Perscitia informs me, when she had to go to court in order to be able to work as a professor and earn income. She says that they were so afraid of her, the judges and the dean of the school, she was able to bargain for a raise in her contract- and I am much more fearsome than Perscitia, everyone agrees. They will not be able to insult Tharkay so, when I am there, you will see." He noses at Laurence again, absurdly cajoling. "But that is not a reason to not have the wedding immediately, is it not? I believe I have nothing scheduled for this Saturday, Laurence, will you ask Tharkay if he is previously engaged that day?" 

The current date only being a Wednesday, Laurence gave an involuntary shudder. He represents the need for patience to a reluctant Temeraire, and also realizes that Temeraire has missed an essential point- the engagement being a ruse. "I suppose we would have to wait on the tailors, to be sure." He is finally able to make Temeraire say. "I would not like you to wear a rushed coat, they would likely botch it, and then where would we be? No," here he becomes thoughtful. "Perhaps next Saturday week, Laurence. It is customary to be married on a Saturday, is it not?" He inquires. Laurence must stop this, sooner rather than later, before Temeraire has his heart broken. 

"Tharkay does not love me." Laurence states baldly. He cannot perpetuate the ruse on his most beloved friend. 

This shocks Temeraire greatly, Laurence is sad to see. Temeraire sits back on his haunches, the better to peer at Laurence sceptically. Better that it be done quickly, he has judged, and so he continues. "We are only doing this to get his estate back. The will says that he must be engaged or married to a Christian, you see. I am only helping him. We will dissolve the engagement at a later date, when his claim on the estate is more firm." 

"Laurence." Temeraire tries, pausing in confusion. "Laurence, I do not understand. How could you say that he does not love you?" 

A lump forms in his throat, and his eyes sting. It must be the thought of Edith. "There are many people who do not love me. If I try and hold out for everyone to see my worth, I will be waiting my whole life. I consider him one of my closest friends." He says, the lump easing as he recognizes the truth in what he says, "There is nothing that I would not do for him." 

"No, Laurence, I know that nobody is beloved by everyone. " Temeraire says impatiently. "I only mean, how can you say that? Is it not love, to care for the other person, and give them things that they need? How is that different from what Tharkay has done for you?" Temeraire asks, obviously greatly puzzled. Laurence opens his mouth to respond and stops, at a loss for words. 

Looking at Laurence's evident inability to explain further, "Is this a human thing, I suppose? Iskierka is always on about how she does not understand Granby and Little. Her and Immortalis are quite at a loss to manage them some days." 

Laurence tries to smile. "I suppose it is one of those human things, my dear. I only ask that you maintain the fiction that we are engaged, in order to secure Tharkay's place." 

"Is it about making an egg together?" Temeraire asks bluntly. Laurence stammers and feels his face going warm. "Because Little and Granby got married, and they are two men together as well. Iskierka said that Granby and Little certainly enjoy trying to make an egg anyway, even if none will come of it." 

Laurence takes refuge in church doctrine, although he is sure his face is flaming red. "It is not held to be a sin by the church, as such couples will naturally be able to take any foundlings or orphans that would otherwise fall on the part of the state. Indeed, I know of many mixed marriages that have availed themselves of the ministry, and many that have never had children either, for inclination alone. It is not a common thing, but it is respected." 

Temeraire says triumphantly, "So, Laurence, this is all nonsense about not really being married. You will change your mind eventually, I am sure. You have talked about being married so much, you know, I would be sad if I was the cause for losing you companionship." Laurence pats his nose affectionately. "And this way, I can help you pick out the egg, and get a nice one. Maybe a quiet one, with blue eyes like mine. 

"But Laurence, can I at least order you both new coats? It would look suspicious, you know, if I were not already making arrangements for the wedding clothes and such." Temeraire says, no doubt thinking his stratagem quite subtle. Laurence sighs and agrees.


	7. Chapter 7

They leave in a week, after a flurry of preparation. When Laurence asks Jane to release him and Temeraire from their duties for some time to visit Tharkay's future estate, she smacks his arm familiarly and says confusingly, "Took you long enough! Now go, I will explain to the admiralty later." Laurence decides not to pry. 

They ride together on Temeraire. Laurence reads aloud Temeraire's latest correspondence during most of it. He was unsurprised to see another letter from Edith, full of political news. 

Tharkay is silent beside him for most of the ride. Laurence thinks that he has done something to offend him in the intervening week. Tharkay has seemed almost like he was waiting for something on several occasions. 

"That is quite a lovely turn of phrase, do you not think, Laurence?" Temeraire comments. "I shall have to write her as soon as we land. Oh, and can you tell Tharkay what the letter I had from Arkady yesterday said?" 

Laurence fumbles for a moment. In truth, he would have done much to not bring it up. With this strange recent awkwardness between him and Tharkay, it seems guaranteed to cement it. 

"Have you forgotten already?" Temeraire inquires. "Tharkay, Arkady had said it was not surprising that you are engaged, with how much you went through to save us in Danzig, and China." His tone is light and breezy. "He says that you talked of very little except Laurence when you were trying to reach us in China. I am so pleased that there will be no issue of you going back to him, now."

Laurence ventures a look over. He is pleased to see that Tharkay is smiling, open and warm. "Indeed?" 

Temeraire assents. "Iskierka also possesses opinions, as usual." At this, Tharkay snorts, still smiling. "I agree. But she did have a great deal of sense regarding wedding plans. Laurence said for me not to plan too much ahead of time," he says disconsolately, a clear hint that he would like to. 

At Tharkay's sudden flat expression, Laurence feels his mood plummet again, the fragile peace broken. Tharkay is on edge about something, although Laurence is damned if he knows why.

Then Tharkay points down, indicating a large house. Temeraire begins to descend, the air warming. 

The house is indeed quite large. It is surrounded by gently rolling land, dotted with many cows and a few shaggy northern sheep. Laurence judges the building quite handsome. The bushes look to be pruned with too much finicky zeal, but the gravel road is smooth and well maintained. They land on the lawn and walk up. 

Their party is evidently sighted from the house, Temeraire's bulk difficult to miss. A small figure exits and hurries down the path toward them. Tharkay strides forward, a smile on his lips. 

Laurence has served with Scottish marines, of course, in the Navy. The accent is often difficult to parse. But he cannot make head or tail of what Tharkay says, nor the response. 

Laurence looks doubtfully at them, waiting to be introduced. Finally Tharkay turns around and, in English, introduces everyone. Proximity to his old home must be pulling his accent up by at least a social class or two, Laurence muses, watching Tharkay's lips enunciate the perfectly rounded vowels.

They learn that the man before them is the steward to the estate, a Mr. Quickley. "Quickley's the name, and quickly I try and help my Georgie here!" He exclaims. He is short and slight, face weathered, most likely in his late sixties but hale. 

"Georgie?" He inquires, shaking hands. Temeraire lowers his head down to be introduced as well. Quickley adjusts well, bowing. 

"Ah, yes, young Georgie!" Quickley says. Tharkay seems amused. "George MacLuirg, really, only I helped raise him from a wee boy, so I get to call him Georgie too. My Effie is tickled pink that thou art coming back." 

Laurence feels his face freeze when he hears the name. "I beg your pardon?" Do not laugh, he tells himself. Do not laugh. 

Tharkay shrugs. "I am not entitled to that surname any more, as you well know. Will knows me by my mother's name." 

"Ach," Quickley dismisses, "Thou knows I have no truck with them in the courts. MacLuirg I will call thee, and damn them all for a pack o' vultures." 

He seems satisfied with demonstrating his loyalty, and turns to show them in the house. "How exciting, Laurence! A whole new language! I cannot wait to pick it up." Laurence finds tears coming to his eyes with stifled laughter. "Whatever is the matter?" Temeraire asks worriedly. 

So many instances in their acquaintanceship would prove ridiculous if he said George MacLuirg instead of Tenzing, Laurence is thinking. A tense run through sewers, stealing dragon eggs from a harem. Tharkay descending with twenty dragons, finding him in a rebel stronghold hidden in a Chinese mountain. 

And their savior- George MacLuirg. 

Wee Georgie. 

Laurence has to stop directly outside the front door and laugh for several long moments. "I am alright, my dear." He pats Temeraire's nose as it bumps up against him in concern. "It is only- George MacLuirg- wee Georgie!-" he wheezes again. 

Tharkay comes back out. "I cannot imagine what is taking you so long- Will, are you quite alright?" He says in concern. 

Laurence knows he must look like a madman. His face is flushed warm and he cannot stop laughing. He can see Temeraire and Tharkay exchanging puzzled looks over his head. "I think it is your name, somehow. No, your other name." Temeraire says doubtfully. 

Laurence waves a hand, masters himself. "I apologize. It is only- I cannot imagine you as a Georgie." Another stifled giggle escapes. "Much less- MacLuirg-" 

Tharkay only smiles faintly. "I do prefer Tenzing, as you have grasped the most obvious part of why." 

Laurence finally masters himself enough to enter the house and be introduced to some of the staff. He pretends not to see Tharkay's and Temeraire's exchange of baffled shrugs. 

Beach, the butler, is the most formidable example of the breed that Laurence has yet seen. Beach only looks down his nose at him. Which is quite a lot of nose. Laurence looks away, feeling judged. 

He only is asked to incline his head slightly as Tharkay goes down the line. Clearly, most of the old servants regard him with fondness rather than decorum. Laurence sees Quickley laugh uproariously at several moments. Mr. Beach even murmurs, "It is good thou art come home, sir." The main line of servants soon dissipate and Tharkay is left speaking quietly with Beach and Quickley. Laurence hears, "Taken into the service," and "Captain MacLuirg, disnae sound fine?" and then it dissolves into incomprehensibility. They are both nodding with approval, however, so Laurence does not try to rescue him. 

From the outside, in the fading light, the house had been impressive. Now that Laurence is inside, he can see it is a grand house indeed. A large circular staircase winds around stately in the foyer. The walls are covered in various oil paintings of women holding dogs and men holding swords. 

Laurence is rapidly fearing becoming lost if he tries to find his room on his own. But he wants nothing more than to wash his face and collect his thoughts. 

Tharkay turns to Beach, and asks in primly accented English, where their rooms are. Beach tells Laurence, "Third level, fifth room on the left, to be sure. Sir." Laurence doesn't think he imagines the doubtful pause before the sir. 

He leaves Tharkay behind as he ascends the stair.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My notes for myself for this scene include 'very heterosexual. Much straight.'

Laurence is unprepared for sharing a room. 

He has always prided himself on his tactical mind. To be a good leader is to see the future, and adapt the present to it, in order to obtain the future one wants. 

How he didn't think this through, he doesn't know. 

But here he is. 

Or, more accurately, here they are. 

Quickley had no doubt assumed that they would be sharing a room. There are two bedrooms, decorously connected by a door, but only one has the bed made up. 

His sea chest is already thoughtfully placed at the foot of the bed. The room is fairly small, obviously a guest room, and mostly bare. A woman's hairbrush set and pincushion, bristling with hatpins, sits on a vanity next to a basin and pitcher. 

Sharing space with Tharkay is hardly new. The act of sharing a bed should not be so shocking. 

It is, after all, important to keep up the ruse. Laurence would not want it said that he was lacking in helping a friend. 

All of this passes through his mind in a moment, as he steps through the door and sees the one large bed, and after he looks frantically, the smaller unmade one. It would be queer, he tells himself, to go and inquire if the other bed would be able to be arranged. Tharkay is still downstairs, lingering in conversation. He does not want to cause suspicion among the staff. 

It will not be so bad, anyway, he tells himself. He already knows that Tharkay does not snore. 

And then Laurence turns around, and with trepidation sees the bathtub. 

It is a pretty thing, copper and with small feet, and filled to the brim with steaming fragrant water. It does not deserve to be looked at with such apprehension. 

Would Laurence be expected to bathe? Ordinarily this would be a treat after a journey. Or would Tharkay expect- he hears the man's voice on the landing. 

"Very good, very good Quickley." He says, his drawing room accent out in full force again as he speaks. "I thank you, and I will see you in the morning." 

Quickley murmurs his assent, and Laurence can hear his footsteps move along the corridor as Tharkay steps into the room. His expression is flat again, his eyes dark in his tanned skin. "Ah, a bath." He says, moving towards it. He seems unsurprised by the single bed. 

Laurence's mouth goes unaccountably dry as Tharkay, without any indication of fear or modesty, strips naked and lowers himself in the bathtub. A long scar decorates a hard upper thigh, Laurence notices, and his arms are scarred as well. Dark ink curls over his back, the lines blurred slightly with age. He shifts so that he is submerged in the water, only his bent knees protruding. 

Laurence supposes he should be grateful that he is the only one surprised by their situation. He can take his example from Tharkay, and act nonchalantly regarding the shared space. Tharkay rises enough to lift his head and shoulders over the water. Laurence opens his foot locker and begins to hang his coats and shirts up in the wardrobe. 

Laurence is pleased to see that his garments have made it through intact. The creases are still sharp and no new wrinkles have worked their way into the fabric. Although if he would compare himself with the other aviators, he does not doubt that he will always be more polished. The state of their neckcloths alone would speak for it. He wonders if he can perhaps take some of the younger ones aside, to teach them how to pack- his musing is broken into by a sardonic, "Care to help me wash my hair, Will?" 

He turns around, a stack of neckcloths in his hands. "Of course, Tenzing." He answers automatically, although he is somehow loath to do so. He fetches the soap and dutifully dips it in the water behind Tharkay's back to moisten it. He kneels by the tub, briskly making a lather with the soap between his palms. He waits to see if Tharkay will say any guidance for the task. The soap smells pleasantly of rosemary and lavender. 

Finally, in silence, he judges that he has enough lather. Tharkay has taken to wearing his hair cropped shorter, the bulk of it not reaching past his ears. He does not even have enough for a queue. Laurence likes Tharkay's hair longer, although he supposes it does make it easier to wash. 

He reaches up and gently spreads the suds in his hair, massaging the scalp with the pads of his fingers. He reaches with one hand to place the soap on a tray on the table next to the tub, then goes back to his task with both hands. Tharkay does not speak, but Laurence can see tension in his shoulders. "Let me know if I am doing it wrong, Tenzing." 

His shoulders drop slightly. Laurence is cheered to see his joke has lightened the mood. It is such an odd situation to find themselves in, pretending to be engaged. Not their first bizarre situation, to be sure. At least there are no odalisques here, or even Iskierka to add the possibility of conflagration. 

If this backfires, they will only have angry Scotsmen to contend with. 

Laurence might not find this last thought as reassuring as he originally intended it to be. 

But it is still a good reminder that whatever else, they are friends. Laurence ventures to share this with Tenzing. 

Tenzing does not immediately reply, only submerging his head abruptly under the water and rinsing out the soap. Laurence decorously looks away, sinking back on his heels. At length, Tharkay sits back up and pulls the towels toward him, levering himself out of the bathtub and covering up with a towel around his waist before Laurence looks back up. "Friends." He says, a twist to his mouth that Laurence cannot interpret. "Yes. Of course. The bath is yours, if you would like it. I will go change in the other room." He stalks off. Laurence shakes his head. 

He really does not know why Tharkay takes these moods, sometimes. Perhaps it is the memory of Alistair or the loss of his estate that troubles him so.


	9. Chapter 9

If the bathing had been awkward, sleeping is worse. 

Laurence had become accustomed to sleeping where and when he could on the road. In the intervening time since Napoleon's defeat, he had become somewhat more demanding in his habits. 

He prefers to sleep next to Temeraire. The sound of familiar breathing soothes him, the rattle of the carts and traffic outside their lodging in London a reassuring constant. 

The still night air of the estate sounds cold, somehow, and the distant mooing of the cows and the clanking of their bells are distracting intermittent bursts of sound. 

When Tharkay enters the bed, for Laurence has already cleaned his teeth and gotten under the covers, drowsing and plausibly asleep, it becomes more awkward still. 

Laurence is still at a loss for knowing if he acted improperly. Perhaps he had wished to bathe alone? Or Laurence had been unnecessarily rough? Laurence cannot help but feel that he has missed something that Tharkay had expected of him. 

He had thought they had passed, early in their relationship, the walls that Tharkay had built up. He had thought that he had demonstrated his suitability as a friend and confidante. He knows that he trusts Tharkay.

He wishes that Tharkay would know to trust him. 

Tharkay slips beneath the sheets on the other side. Laurence tries to keep up an illusion of sleep, unwilling to provoke a fight this late at night. If Tharkay must go and find somewhere else to sleep, it will no doubt cause comment among the staff. Tharkay settles in gingerly, keeping his own limbs firmly on his side, even though the bed is by no means large. 

Tharkay's breathing is reassuring enough to soothe him to a half awake state. Laurence finally tells himself to stop worrying, and forces himself to go to sleep. 

 

In the morning, awareness comes slowly. Laurence is tangled up with another body, comfortable and warm. A head is on his chest, arms firm with wiry muscle wrapped firmly around his torso, a sinewy thigh between his legs. 

Laurence is hard, a firm hard line pressing up against a nicely warm abdomen. He dimly thinks of thrusting up against that hot tight skin, rutting and taking his pleasure with soft noises, until he can come undone. He wants to kiss, to bite that lovely firm muscle. He wants to make it slick and wet, so good and warm, so that he can reach down and bring his bedmate off too. He braces his heels in the bed firmly to push up and- 

His eyes fly open as reality enters. He is wrapped up in Tharkay. 

His erection refuses to subside, happy where it is. Tharkay is deeply asleep, thank the lord. He breathes slowly, his back rising and falling evenly. The bedclothes have been pushed down in the night. Laurence can see his back, his ridged spine and tight lines of muscle, spread out in hard edged ripples over his form. An expanse of dark skin, the paleness of his own shocking in contrast. The curve of Tharkay's buttocks hint tantalizingly through his pyjamas. Dark lines of ink swirl along his shoulders and back, the writing indecipherable. 

Shame flushes through him like a stampede. Tharkay had made it very clear last night that he was displeased at Laurence. And now in the morning, for Laurence to harass him in his sleep, is unconscionable. 

Tharkay is innocently sleeping. It is only Laurence who cannot master himself. 

Laurence scoots his hips toward the edge of the bed, his erection pulsing with pleasure at the friction but disappointed to be away from Tharkay's heat. Some part of him still wants to roughly push Tharkay over, rut up against him, wake him up to Laurence's helpless moans of pleasure. But that part must be controlled, Laurence thinks grimly. It is unsuitable for him to take advantage while Tharkay is asleep. 

Tharkay startles as Laurence is lifting off his arm. He was nearly safe, Laurence mentally curses. Tharkay's eyes flick open, obviously fully awake in an instant. Laurence is at loss to explain himself. 

"Good morning," he tries. Tharkay hums in mild agreement and turns his back, burrowing into the bedclothes. The supple line of his spine invites Laurence to kiss and bite. 

Laurence decides what the better part of honor is, and flees.


	10. Chapter 10

Laurence goes to find Temeraire, first, who is coiled out on the lawn. "Laurence!" He calls. "I just had the most delightful conversation with Mr. Beach." 

Laurence should be unsurprised by Temeraire's ability to make friends. "Yes? What did you speak of?" He asks, climbing up to sit in the crook of his arm. 

Instantly he feels better. He always feels better around Temeraire.

"I have been learning some of the language they speak here- he called it Erse, although there are other names for it too." He speaks more, although Laurence does not have the head nor passion for grammatical rules that Temeraire has. "And he tells me that he has a collection of poetry, which he is going to obtain and bring back, so that he may read to me." 

Laurence can see Beach's form coming down from the house now with a large book. "Oh yes, poetry." Laurence says, wondering if he should time how long it takes Temeraire to accomplish these things. 

Beach gives Laurence a look that suggests he has seen things on the bottom of his shoe that have pleased him more, but nods with genuine appreciation at Temeraire. "With thy permission, I will read aloud." 

Temeraire says eagerly, "Yes, please do." And the matter is unavoidable. 

Fortunately an English translation is helpfully provided after each poem. Temeraire closes his eyes during the passages he particularly likes, and taps his claws in appreciation whenever Beach is done with a poem. When he gets to Scots Wha Hae, he tells Temeraire that it is often sung, and turns out to have a very pleasant baritone. 

Beach, at length, bows and accepts Temeraire's extravagant praise, smiling. He even bestows a smile on Laurence. 

As he is leaving, Laurence asks after Tharkay's location. "Sir is in the green drawing room, writing letters." His tone frosts over again. 

Temeraire is obviously fired up after the poetry, and asks to go flying. Laurence grabs his harness and straps on firmly. War poetry always has a way of getting Temeraire's fighting spirit up. 

After the seventh corkscrew, Laurence is glad for his missed breakfast. They spend the morning in the air, only returning for luncheon. Laurence takes his food out to eat with Temeraire, after being informed by a maid that Tharkay is still closeted. 

Cravenly, Laurence does not go and find him, preferring Temeraire's company. Supper, however, is a stiff affair. Tharkay barely speaks a few words to Laurence, who responds with short answers. 

Tharkay's lips twist and he leaves to find Quickley, ostensibly to take a look at the fields. As it is pitch black outside, Laurence doubts the pretext. 

Laurence walks by Beach's small office on his way outside to say good night to Temeraire. He can catch Beach's voice, rumbling in a deep register, and catches the name Jock. Tharkay's pleased laughter rings out from behind the cracked open door. He can't remember the last time he heard Tharkay laughing, and the thought cuts him open. 

He wishes he knew what to do to hear it again. 

Laurence pauses, and then thinks better of it, and continues. 

 

The second night is somehow, even worse. 

That he should so fear what he will do in his sleep in appalling. He should be able to control himself. Tharkay has given him no indication that Laurence's advances would be welcome. 

He will just have to lump it, he thinks bitterly as he settles himself into his bed alone. Tharkay is still out, no doubt avoiding Laurence for as long as he can. 

Part of Laurence wants to dwell on what he should have done. Maybe if he would have pushed him on his back, rutted up against him, Tharkay would have woken up moaning his name. The idea of drawing a whispered "Will, Will," from Tharkay's lips almost is enough to make Laurence take himself in hand. He could have pushed Tharkay's legs up, folded him nearly in half, held his wrists down and- enough of this, he thinks ruefully, willing his erection to subside. 

He turns his head and listens to the noises of the house settling. He can hear the cows in their paddocks, the night breeze bringing the gentle noises. It is warm enough to have a window slightly open for the fresh air and the curtains softly move. Laurence feels his eyelids becoming heavier. 

He is not asleep, precisely, nor is he awake when Tharkay comes to bed. He had been planning on talking to him, but now that the moment is upon him all he wants to do is wrap himself around him and go to sleep. 

Laurence does not know the last time he was so unsettled. Even when committing treason, he had known that his actions were ultimately right. Now he feels that whatever course he takes, he will hurt Tharkay or himself. Or both. 

He listens to Tharkay settle himself on the edge of the bed, as far from Laurence as he can get. 

Laurence is forced to admit that he is attracted to the man. The persistence of his thoughts all day about how the morning should have gone are proof. 

But he has been given no evidence that Tharkay thinks of him as anything other than a friend. It is only his own fault that he is in this position. And a ridiculous position, is it not? Falsely claiming a relationship that he secretly, now, has come to want? 

Go back to sleep, he says firmly in the confines of his mind. It will look better in the morning.

 

It does not look better in the morning. 

This time they are in the middle, not on Laurence's side. Laurence has his leg over Tharkay's hips and an arm over his chest, another cradling him. Tharkay has obviously abandoned his pillow overnight to use Laurence's shoulder as a replacement. 

Laurence only notices their positions as he dimly realizes Tharkay is trying to surreptitiously extricate himself. The cool morning air is shocking on his skin when Tharkay moves away. Laurence finds himself grasping instinctively. Unwilling to humiliate himself further, he pretends to stay asleep. 

He can hear the soft noises of Tharkay readying himself for the day- cleaning his teeth, washing his face and hands. He treasures them, like a miser over gold.

With a cold chill he realizes that this will likely be the last time they spend together. Tharkay will be tied to his estate, and he will be tied to the service. They will dissolve the false engagement publicly, and have very little to do with each other. 

He had been so worried about Tharkay leaving Britain, but he should have been worried about him leaving the corps. Laurence has unwittingly created the reason for the rupture he wanted to avoid. 

Maybe he should have taken everyone's advice, and run away to North America. 

His future stretches out. Except for Temeraire, one bright light in a sea of darkness, it is bleak and desolate. No marriage, no children, no security. Temeraire will outlive him, too, and then Temeraire will be alone as well. 

Laurence feels a prickle of tears in a rush of crippling grief. He has no idea what to do.


	11. Chapter 11

He goes down to breakfast after he feels a little more certain in his skin, meaning to discuss a little more what motives and expectations that Tharkay has. 

Instead he finds that he has company. Tharkay is sitting down to breakfast, a small smile on his face- he almost never smiles like that, Laurence notes with disquiet- with a gentleman across the table. A shock of flaming red hair, skinny arms and legs, and a slightly manic edge is all Laurence sees before he unfolds himself to make introductions. 

"Jack Douglas, Captain Will Laurence." Tharkay gestures. The gentleman shakes Laurence's hand perfunctorily and returning to his seat. 

"So you are the lucky man, Captain. I wish you joy." His accent could pass for upper class English. Sincerity is lacking from his voice, however. 

Laurence makes his niceties and collects his eggs and bacon from the sideboard. He pretends not to feel a stab of jealousy at their easy manner together. 

"Jock, no." Tharkay murmurs quietly, a hint of brogue coloring his voice, as Laurence sits down. 

"An' why not?" Jack says, a little rebelliously. "Dinnae tell me thou needs all day to write a damned letter." His accent is bleeding through, Laurence notices. 

Tharkay sighs slightly and acquiesces. "We are off to golf, Captain." Jack says. "We might be gone for some time." His drawing room accent is back in full force. 

Tharkay glares at Jack, as if for forgetting an office, and then says stiffly, "We have been invited to a small gathering tomorrow, at Jock's estate. Do not forget, we have court this afternoon." 

Laurence nods cautiously, feeling as if he is treading water and starting to tire. 

They are gone all morning golfing. Laurence sulks with Temeraire, and tries to pretend that's not what he's doing.

 

Temeraire is able to set down right outside the city, downwind for the horses. They have warned the constabulary ahead of time, and there is only a mild panic. As they disembark, he says anxiously, "Now, remember what I have told you. If I hear you shout, I will pull the roof off and-" 

Laurence notes the faces of passersby are looking more and more alarmed. A security guard's knuckles are whitening on his musket. "Very good, very good, yes." He reassures Temeraire, clambering down. "Thank you, my dear." 

A short walk through the crowded streets and they have arrived at the courthouse. Laurence is largely silent, just as he was on their dragon back ride. 

He knows that Temeraire is fretting, but he is still unable to see a way to fix the mess. The only way out is through, he tells himself grimly. 

They are separated to be interrogated in different rooms. Laurence does his best to answer the questions honestly, although he does find some to be a little more prurient than necessary. 

"I am sorry to not oblige you, but I do not think that is any of your business." He blinks and glares a little for emphasis. 

Fortunately, he has long been an intimate friend. Questions regarding sleeping habits, cooking, and Tharkay's favorite dishes are easy to handle. How he takes his tea, where they were engaged, flow easily by. The clerk frowns. 

Laurence answers confidently regarding his status in the church, where they can find registration for his birth, baptism, and what church he attends- he is unable to lie directly when asked if Tharkay attends with him regularly, and the clerk smiles. 

It's an ugly expression. Laurence tries to hurry past but he feels as if he has lost some important point. He knew that he should have made Temeraire understand the importance of the church. If he would have represented it better, Temeraire would have gone regularly, and therefore made the rest of the crew attend. Whether the reverend would have been amenable is another matter- could he find one that would accept dragons in the audience without an apoplexy? 

He is hardly listening as he answers mechanically. Thinking of Temeraire's desire to have them married in less than a week, he responds to the next question, "My preference is for short engagements, to be sure." If it was up to the dragons, his engagement would have been as long as it takes to commission wedding clothes. 

How they met and became close is still a state secret, however, and in the end he thinks he has declined more answers than he has satisfied. 

The clerk shuffles the papers he has used for note taking with an indecent look of triumph. Laurence is abruptly afraid that he has ruined it. He has ruined it all. 

"Please wait," the clerk says, and shuffles Laurence out to the hallway to cool his heels. Tharkay is still closeted. 

Laurence does not eavesdrop, precisely, but he does linger outside the door he knows holds Tharkay for a suspicious amount of time. If Laurence concentrates, he can hear the frantic whinnying of horses in the distance. Perhaps the wind has shifted. 

Of course, as he's concentrating, he can dimly hear Tharkay's voice through the door. 

"Coffee if he can get it. No cream or sugar. Black tea if he cannot get coffee, oddly enough, with cream and sugar." Inaudible murmuring, with a questioning lilt. Tharkay snorts. "Good luck getting Will to answer that. I refuse to as well." 

He cannot hear anything more definite for another minute. Laurence backs up hurriedly as the door opens. He tries to look like someone who was not listening at the door, but doubts if he really succeeds by Tharkay's sceptical look. 

They wait in the hallway, uncomfortably silent. The clerks are comparing notes, pulling at loose threads to see if it unravels. Laurence mentally tries a few opening lines, but discards them all as silly or trite. 

Finally a clerk pokes his head out again. "Can you come back tomorrow?" A muffled yell emanates from within the room. "The judge says, the day after tomorrow. At nine o'clock." He amends hastily. 

Laurence looks doubtfully at Tharkay. He did not expect it to be an open and shut case, but he had hoped to hear more. "Very well," Tharkay says, in his iciest accent, "I thank you for your time." 

They depart, Temeraire fretting like a nursemaid as he lifts them up to his back. Laurence tries not to laugh at the knot of guards who have obviously not left off watching Temeraire fearfully the whole time they were in the building.


	12. Chapter 12

That night passes in a blur. He hardly sees Tharkay, who goes off to visit Jack nearly as soon as they disembark. Laurence is left to endure more poetry and Beach's slights. 

He goes to bed late, and Tharkay is still not home. He tells himself that he's not bitter about this, but his ability to self deceive is becoming thin. He wants to kiss Tharkay, wants to marry him in truth and not lies, but doesn't know how to go about it. 

Laurence wakes up in the middle of the night to a warm body climbing into bed next to him. He's weak enough to slide across, faking sleep, and extend an arm to clasp Tharkay firmly to him. 

He can't ignore the shudder and the stiff muscles as Tharkay tries to recoil and then freezes. Laurence tries not to care, but he wakes up more and realizes what he's done. 

Laurence will not be one to force his affections when they are not returned. He pretends to be asleep, probably fooling no one. He doesn't complete the movement, only keeping his arm over Tharkay's shoulder. 

After a few long moments, he feels Tharkay relax slightly. Some time after that, lulled by the sound of Tharkay breathing, he falls asleep again. 

 

He wakes up with his face tucked into Tharkay's neck, his hair tickling Laurence's face. He smells divine. Laurence finds himself nosing closer unconsciously. 

He has his right arm and leg thrown possessively over Tharkay's body. Tharkay is on his back, snoring gently, one arm over Laurence's hip as if to keep him there. 

Laurence has never wanted anyone this badly before. Only absolute knowledge of Tharkay's disinterest keeps him from reaching down and- maybe he would like it, maybe he would let Laurence- just the once, just to see- Laurence would make it so good, make him beg for it- but no. 

Laurence will not be that man. He remembers that appalled shock when he touched him last night, remembers Tharkay sneaking out of bed. He won't force him. Every instinct rebels against being the agent of violence to one of his dearest friends. 

He sneaks out guiltily. By the end, he's sure that Tharkay is not asleep any more either, but is at least giving him a face saving out of appearing to be asleep. 

When he’s eating a brief breakfast, he has a moment of panic when he realizes that they are supposed to go to a ‘small gathering’ at Jack’s estate tonight. He really hopes there will be no dancing.

 

He should not have hoped.

There is dancing. 

And ladies smiling at him, eager to dance. He ordinarily would love to- a simple country dance, Scotch and Irish airs, he loves to dance- but he would defy anyone to enjoy it when accompanied by Tharkay alternating between smiling at Jack and scowling at Laurence. 

It cannot be borne.

He is in a corner, numbly eating white soup and trying to force a smile whenever a lady passes by. Jack’s estate is, of course, larger than even Tharkay’s. Laurence knows not a soul, not even a Navy man to break up the tedium. Tharkay had said something about a childhood friend and had disappeared, although Laurence had seen him at a far away table playing whist.

Laurence is shocked when Jack approaches his table and sits down next to him. Their conversation is quite private with the din of conversation and music in the room, although their corner is relatively quiet.

Jack is thin, his hair slightly receding and his coat with tasteful ornamentation. Laurence is surprised at how much he has always hated him. But he reminds himself to be polite to his host, and to Tharkay’s friend, and makes the neutral noises.

Jack holds up a hand, his voice cold and elegant. “I am sure that Tharkay has excellent taste, but I find myself questioning it more and more lately.” Laurence notes a wedding ring on his hand, and frowns at it, as well as Jack’s words. “You do know, of course, that despite that dragon of yours, I will hunt you down and flay you slowly when you finally go through with this and break his heart?”

Laurence frowns. “I do not have the ability to understand you, sir.”

Jack rolls his eyes and scoots his chair closer. “He would be displeased if he found out, to be sure, but I would not even mind. Look, I know that you are just doing this to get to his estate. He does not even care for the damned thing. I have only ever seen him remotely happy when he has been paddling around in the Amazon or some foolish area.” Laurence can feel his face freezing and calcifying in horror. “We have been boys together, and although the only thing I have had from him in the last decade and a half has been letters, we are still each others’ dearest friends. So if I were you, I would go off and hide somewhere. It would be easier on Tenzing if you just disappeared.”

“Sir,” Laurence says coldly, “I do not give tuppence for his estate, except that it would make Tenzing secure. And if you think I would marry him for money-”

“Come come, I looked you up in the peerage, you know. I know you grew up grand, but third sons can not afford to be picky. And when your Navy career was-” at Laurence’s forbidding frown, he obviously decided to be generous- “changed to the corps, well, we all know what the aviator corps is like for retirement. Come come,” he says, his voice wheedling. “Tell me how much you want, and I will pay you, just to go away and leave poor Tenzing alone. He seems to hang on your every word, I know, but he will soon get over it.”

Laurence frowns, shakes his head. “I love him, you know.” He says, finding the words true and sure on his tongue. “It is not what you think.”

Jack eyes him, thoughtfully. The moment stretches, long and awkward. “Maybe it is not.” He concedes. “Tenzing always did have a soft spot for the honorable ones. Come, I will get you a drink.” Laurence would rather eat kangaroo again and grow out his beard, but he supposes that he should be friendly to Tharkay’s friends.

Jack really does have excellent wine. 

Laurence’s memory goes a little hazy after that again. He does know that he cannot remember why he hadn’t liked the man in the first place. 

They are in the same corner, watching the dance. Jack gossips like a fishwife and plies him with wine. Laurence can’t remember the last time he had such a good time, except for Granby’s wedding. “Aha, gamester.” Jack nods knowingly at a small man, unprepossessing except for a luxuriant set of muttonchops. “Oh, she uses rouge. You see, there, on her cheeks?” He gestures with his glass. 

Laurence hiccups and smiles. “Why do you call him Tenzing?” He asks, abruptly. He had thought he was one of the few people who could call him that.

Jack’s lips purse. “You know we were at Eton and Oxford together.” Laurence nearly dislocates his neck craning to look at Jack, who laughs. “He does play things close to the chest, does he not? He has a degree in the classics and, oh, probably lived in the language department most of our time there. He rowed for Oxford, too, so he is no slouch either. I will have to see if he will come up for the annual boat race, now that he is back in Britain. Well, I digress.” Laurence is suddenly aware of how inebriated he is, and how sober Jack is. Jack is watching him closely. “He was not as tanned back then, and to most people he did not look foreign. He did not get as much grief in those days, but anybody could see he was not really happy. He went on a tour after we graduated, except not just the Continent- well, he would say that it really all is the same continent, but he is better at geography than me- and he did not come back for a while. Old MacLuirg senior had gone on his own traveling days, as I am sure you know-” Laurence does not know, he thinks with a lurch, all of this is news to him, and he can see Jack seeing this too- “so he was fine with it. I know Tenzing wanted to see Nepal again. 

“I always called him George, growing up, you know.” Laurence cannot mistake the fond look in Jack’s eyes. “When he came back, he told me that he wanted to be known by Tenzing. George had always felt a little wrong to me to call him, anyway. He sometimes would not respond to it, in a crowd. This was when he was engaged to Sara.” Laurence does not look surprised at this, and Jack nods. “ At least you know that part. Unfortunately he told his father, who told his uncle, who stuck that little repellent piece into his father’s will. He also had a bit more of a tan, and started dressing less like a gentleman, and you know how people will be.” Jack’s expression goes flat and bitter. "His uncle offered him a job, you know. One of his acquaintances was in the circus, and he could have put on Nepalese robes and been part of an act. Tenzing told him to go to the devil. 

“After that, he left. All I had were increasingly sparse letters. You can imagine the difficulty in writing back. Where would I address it? And then the war came. 

“And now here you are, with your green coat and your dragon, and I am supposed to surrender my closest friend without a fight. So remember what I said, Captain-” Laurence is far too drunk for this conversation. “When you hurt him, I will hunt you down and skin you like a fox.” Laurence opens his mouth, brows drawing down.

Jack looks behind Laurence. “Ah, Tenzing.” He says. Laurence feels his anger die away like mist in the morning sun. 

“What happened to Laurence?” Tharkay asks mildly. Laurence turns around and manages a confused frown before hiccuping. “Ah,” is all he says. “So early in the night? Come away, we can go-”

“Home,” Laurence wants to say, but manages to keep it behind his teeth. Tharkay makes their goodbyes and takes him to the estate, tucks him in to bed.

The only good thing about that night is that he is too drunk to invade Tharkay’s space again, and decorously stays on his side of the bed the whole night. When he wakes up, it’s to an empty room. Tharkay has already gone down to breakfast.


	13. Chapter 13

They are cooling their heels in the courthouse corridor. Laurence is finding that he is at a loss for words to say. Finally, the doors open. Laurence looks over and says simply, "Whatever happens, I am glad to be here."

Tharkay's lips tighten, but he does nod. "I thank you for the sentiment." And strides forward into the large courtroom, shoulders straight. Laurence follows, somehow feeling as if he is going to the noose.

After a sufficient amount of legalese, the judge rules against the previous finding. He declares that Tharkay is indeed the legally descended son of George MacLuirg. Laurence sneaks a look over. There is a mask over Tharkay's features, but Laurence is familiar enough with him to pick up the signs. Tharkay does not appear happy, merely resigned.

The judge coughs significantly. "While the previous ruling has been dealt with, there is another matter placed before the courts today. My clerks inform me that your answers match each others' to a remarkable degree. However, this is not enough. We are still unconvinced that this is a genuine engagement, as you have not set a date and both of you have stated your preference for short engagements. There are two options. You can set a date for your wedding, and inform the courts. Or two, you may kiss in front of God and Country, and may God smite you if you have misrepresented your affections." 

Tharkay turns to him, as always slightly faster on the uptake. Laurence turns as well, Tharkay's lips parted. 

And then Laurence is kissing him, a slight rasp of beard not unpleasant against his skin. Tharkay's eyes open wide, but he seems eager enough to continue the kiss. Laurence reaches up to put his hands on Tharkay's lapels and finds them unexpectedly fisting themselves in the fabric to keep him firmly there. Tharkay's scent envelops him, warm and inviting. The kiss is still somewhat chaste, but Laurence's mind is rushing forward into more scenarios. He can tip Tharkay's head back, bite along his throat- push up his shirt and feel the soft skin, littered with scars, over firm muscle- he can nose at the sharp jut of hip bone and nip gently- 

The judge banging his gavel intrudes unpleasantly on his consciousness. Guiltily, Laurence suspects that he has been using it for some time. He breaks off the kiss halfheartedly, still chasing Tharkay's lips. "Order in the court!" The judge shouts. "Order in the court!" His wig is slightly askew and his face is red from the effort of banging his gavel. Murmurs arise like thunder from the court spectators. Laurence can see a woman swooning. 

Tharkay looks shocked. Laurence gently releases his grip from his lapels, suddenly afraid he has overstepped. Tharkay licks his lips, and Laurence helplessly follows the movement. Tharkay sees him watching and his face shutters again, turning toward the judge. 

Laurence dimly hears the judge ruling in their favor. The rest- leaving the courthouse, meeting up with Temeraire, telling him the good news, passes in a blur. Temeraire makes his congratulations uncertainly, picking up on the rift between them. 

He is aware of Tharkay's silence becoming more ominous as the flight goes on, his posture becoming increasingly rigid. Laurence is at a loss for what to do, what to say. He keeps his head down and prays for the right thing to say. 

Perhaps he will just kiss Tharkay again. It was not that onerous of a duty. 

Temeraire sets them down on the lawn, his tail curling protectively around them. "Laurence, dear," he calls out, "Can we talk about a date for the wedding now? I have so much to do, you know." 

Laurence looks at Tharkay, who is waiting for his answer with a stormy expression. "Let me speak to Tharkay, first." He temporizes, an evident mistake. Tharkay turns on his heel and leaves. 

Temeraire and Laurence both watch him stalk up the hill. "Laurence, what is wrong?" Temeraire asks miserably. "Something has clearly gone wrong."

Laurence manages to give a slightly longer explanation of the events in the courtroom. He had only briefly told him that they had won the case, when they first boarded. 

"We obtained his estate for him, and you are kissing now. What should I do?"

Laurence finds himself unable to say. "Let me go speak to him." He says, taking his leave and hurrying up after him. 

 

When he enters the foyer, he can see a slim figure in a green coat in the parlor. He hurries in, an exclamation on his lips, only to see Granby turn around. 

"So sorry for what, Will?" Granby smiles, puzzled. Laurence gapes for a moment and then collapses in a chair with a heavy sigh. "Good God, man," Granby says, studying him, "What have you gotten yourself into now, Will? Trouble in paradise already? I was just flying in to Loch Laggan and decided to pay a social call, and now I am very glad I did. Tenzing just swept past me with a face like a thundercloud, and now here you are falling over yourself in remorse. Tell me what happened." 

Laurence covers his face. "I hardly know where to start." 

"Start at the beginning, I dare to say. Come, I will make you tea. Let me just- hang on, maybe I will ring the bell- Good God, you are marrying up, are you not? This house is enormous-" Granby says, looking around without much success for a means of making tea, or at least alerting a servant. Laurence points toward a discreet bell pull, and Mr. Beach is summoned for tea. Mr. Beach eyes Granby's attire with even more censure than Laurence himself had gotten. Granby eyes him with trepidation. 

Once they have the tea things arranged and the butler has left, Granby entreats him again to lay out the whole. 

"Now that terrifying butler is gone, let us have it out. For in all seriousness, Laurence, I cannot credit you to have muffed things up this quickly- but that is your way. Since he is so deeply in love with you, it must be your fault really." Granby says blithely. 

Laurence almost gets distracted again over this. "What?" He manages to say. 

Granby rolls his eyes. "This is painful to watch, you know." His tone is affectionate. "You must have done something. Did you let Temeraire order too much gold braid for the coats?" 

This is just a little too much. Before Laurence realizes what he is doing, the whole sorry mess emerges. Granby starts out smiling, but is frowning in consternation at the end. He asks him to back up only once, to repeat the exact wording of the conversation in the aviator barracks. "And I see now, John, that I really do want to marry him, but I cannot see why he would want to marry me." 

Granby snorts at this, and puts his face in his hands. "It is worse than we all suspected. You really are a silly ass." He looks up, eyes serious. 

Laurence finds that he really cannot dispute this. Granby continues, "He is in love with you. And you are in love with him. You're engaged to be married! And somehow you still find a way to mess it up. Let me clear this up for you." Granby gestures with his hands forcefully. "He asked you to be privateers together when you were in Australia. You said no. He asked you to go to North America with him, you said no. To him, this looks like rejection. When you asked him to marry you, he asked if you meant it. You said yes, thinking that you really meant the ruse. But he thought that you meant it for the purposes of meaning it, you silly ass, and kept waiting for you to kiss him. When you did not, and from his perspective only kissed him to avoid setting a wedding date, and then refused to set a wedding date in front of Temeraire, he thought that meant you were only doing it to get him an estate. Which is not even untrue, although I know you did not mean it like that." His voice drops a register. Laurence feels very ashamed, suddenly, to have missed all this. "And he is probably halfway on his way to the Gobi Desert by now, so you should probably catch him. It really is simple! Talk to him. Set a wedding date, by God. Any other news to impart?" Laurence mutely shakes his head. "No? Well, I suppose that is enough, even for you, Will. I will be off. Do not mess this up any more! See if I will be your agony aunt again." Here he leans in confidentially. "Have you heard his name here? I almost split my sides laughing. That butler did not half glare, I tell you. Georgie! I cannot wait to tell Augustine." He leaves, whistling cheerily.


	14. Chapter 14

Laurence thankfully catches him in their room, angrily knotting a neckcloth. His bag is mostly packed already, small amount that it is. Laurence dawdles by the door, uncertain of his reception. 

"I am so sorry, Tenzing, I did not realize-" Laurence tries to start, but Tharkay will have none of it. 

"Damn the estate, any road. I do not need to grasp at social class like some desperate beggar, Will." Tharkay shouts, uncharacteristically loudly. "I do not need it and I do not want it. The only thing I really wanted," here his voice lowers and becomes sad, "was you. And you are not a thing. And you will not have me, no matter what inducements I offer. So, again, why should I stay? To make a mockery of a marriage, with you avoiding me at every turn and making us both miserable?" 

"No, no. Please, I do want you to marry me, Tenzing." He does not know how it went so dreadfully wrong, but it clearly has, and he is at a loss for how to fix it. 

"Why should I?" He asks, as calmly as if he's discussing the weather. 

Laurence opens his mouth. Why, indeed. What does he have to offer to Tharkay? His heart seems such a small thing, especially when he takes into account how much of his time would be taken away by Temeraire and the service. It is not like the navy, although that had pitfalls of its own. The silence stretches on, becoming awkwardly long as Laurence tries to find a reason why he would interest Tharkay.

Tharkay nods, looking resigned. "I know your policy on second attachments, Laurence," the name like poison on his tongue. "Your heart is still wrapped up in Edith, is it not? Perhaps she will have you now, if you go along and ask nicely, instead of hanging around looking hopeful. I am done. I should have gone years ago, but I kept hanging on, hoping for- for what? For you to smile at me? As you ran off and martyred yourself, again and again? And when your precious war was over, threw yourself at women who never wished to be married in the first place? No, Laurence," and Laurence hates his tone, hates that he has done this unthinkingly to his best friend, hates that he gave him cause to say these things, "I will not wait any longer. Goodbye." He sweeps past him and tries to open the door. 

To his obvious displeasure, it will not open. "Damn it all." He says, stalking past Laurence for the bell to summon a servant. "The door is jammed."

"I realize that I have made many mistakes along the way, Tenzing." Laurence starts, blocking his way to the bell pull. "Please, let me explain." 

Tharkay's nostrils flare. "Damn your hide." Is all he says, but he subsides. 

"I did not know- when you asked me to be a privateer, or to go to North America- I did not know that they were openings to spend time together. I found the idea of you leaving-" Britain, he wants to substitute, but forces himself to say the truth, "-leaving me to be distasteful. I did not know that I loved you. When I said that I meant it, I still thought you were speaking of the stratagem, which I now heartily regret. I did not ask you what you wanted to do, in the matter of the estate, or anything else. I only decided what I thought was the best for you. Can you forgive me?" 

He waits. Tharkay looks down, nods jerkily. Laurence continues, not knowing what condemnation will follow, but determined to see it through and lay himself bare. "I did not set a date for the wedding because Temeraire kept wanting to do it in three days. I only kissed you instead of setting the date because I suddenly had an excuse to do so. I also fear I have been harassing you in your sleep, most unconscionably." He admits, shuffling his feet. "I thought you did not return my burgeoning affections, since you were so cold and quiet, and I tried to restrain myself." But every night, the truth would come out. "I did not know how much I wanted you. I love you, and want to be married to you in truth." He finishes, quietly, waiting for the explosion. When one does not come, and Tharkay only starts to smile, a little vulnerable smile, Laurence knows that they will be alright. "John said that I am a silly ass." He ventures. 

"He is right, you know." Tharkay smiles wider, and leans in for a kiss. 

It is better, worlds better. Laurence leans into the kiss like he could do it forever, and part of him wants to. The faint stubble- for it has been a day since Tharkay last shaved, although Laurence himself shaved this morning- rasps gently against his chin. Laurence changes the angle and presses his advantage. Tharkay smells delicious, rosemary and lavender and a tinge of sweat. Laurence is slightly taller, and it is pleasant to only have to angle down an inch for a kiss. His hands come up and gently wend their way into his coat, holding him firmly in place. 

Laurence maneuvers him, still kissing, toward the bed. When Tharkay's legs bump against it, he gently pushes him down. Tharkay goes willingly, his hands fumbling at his own coat to remove it. "Is this alright, Tenzing?" Laurence asks, unwilling to leave it unspoken. 

"If you stop now, Will, I will throw you out of the house and set the hounds on you." Tharkay threatens, although he's smiling. 

"And we are getting married, yes?" He starts disrobing. Tharkay pauses with his neckcloth half off and watches him so intently that Laurence starts to blush. 

"It will probably take Temeraire a week to plan, but yes, Will, that is my intention." 

"Oh, good." Laurence says, a little stupidly. He can hardly think with Tharkay's obvious interest. He manages to take off his shirt and neckcloth and, deciding that it has been too long, pushes Tharkay over on the bed to kiss him again. He stretches out over him, enjoying the feeling of domination. Tharkay is by no means small, but he is slighter than Laurence, and he finds the difference heady and intoxicating. He pushes a thigh between Tharkay's legs and holds him down. He shoves his shirt and neckcloth up roughly so he can feel his skin. Tharkay does not seem to mind, kissing back with fervor. Laurence pushes himself against his hip, rutting and moaning into the kisses. 

Half formed ideas rush through his head- perhaps Tharkay would let him toss him around a little bit, just enough to- let him bite and scratch, of course only on places that would be decorously covered up, so that only Laurence knows that they are there- pull his hair so his throat is exposed so Laurence can bite- by surprise, he climaxes against Tharkay's hip. He comes in pulses, hot wetness between their bodies. He does not have enough capacity to kiss through it, only panting into Tharkay's open mouth, who watches Laurence's face greedily. He slumps slightly against Tharkay's supine form, relaxed and stifling. 

"Oh, no, you heavy bastard, I want one too." Tharkay says, pushing up against his sweaty weight. Laurence hums in assent, shifting over on his side and off of Tharkay. 

Tharkay looks thoroughly debauched, he notes with pleasure. His coat is off, shirt and neckcloth half undone and pushed up roughly out of the way. There are wet spots on his breeches, both from Laurence's climax and his own arousal. His skin shines with sweat. 

Laurence feels a burst of affection. "I love you." Tharkay begins struggling with his neckcloth, now a tightly knotted mess. Laurence had pulled it against the knot in his urgency to open it up. 

"I know, I love you too." He says impatiently. 

"We are getting married." Laurence says with satisfaction. Tharkay is becoming increasingly frustrated with his neckcloth. 

"Yes, I know. Will, would you help me with this damned thing?" Instead of answering directly, Laurence leans over and starts to unbutton his breeches. "That is- not quite what I imagined- you would want- Will-" but Laurence pulls him out of his breeches. He slides over the bed, arranging Tharkay to his satisfaction till he's sitting on the side of the bed, breeches bunched around his ankles. Laurence kneels in front of him on the floor. Tharkay's breath is coming faster now, small gasps and imprecations in a dozen languages. 

Laurence is a little tentative at first. He's afraid of gagging himself, but Tharkay does not seem over eager to push it too far. He uses his hands, smoothing down the shaft, applying his mouth to the tip. Tharkay's hands come up and pet through his hair. He recognizes some Chinese, praising his mouth. Emboldened, he tries to go deeper. By swallowing, he finds that he can, his throat closing around Tharkay. 

Finally Laurence recognizes a certain pitch to Tharkay's speech, and the hands pushing him up. He backs off and works him through it with his hand. He watches his face intently as Tharkay's orgasm rolls through him. He pants, gasps, throwing back his head. 

Tharkay slumps on the bed, falling backwards. Laurence climbs over him, settling himself slightly to the side to spare him his full weight and bracing himself with his legs. 

He pries apart his neckcloth and worries at Tharkay's neck with his teeth. Tharkay gently combs through his hair with limp fingers. Laurence applies himself to making a mark on the side of his neck, right where it meets the smooth line of his shoulder. "Ow!" Tharkay finally says plaintively when Laurence bites a little too sharply. Laurence nuzzles and licks at it in remorse, but soon returns to biting, only gentler. 

After he is satisfied with the darkness and width of the mark, he sits next to him and unbuttons his shirt and divests Tharkay of all his clothes, then his own, making a pile on the floor. He gets a wet rag and cleans them both up and tucks them into bed. Laurence wraps his arms and legs around Tharkay firmly. He thumbs the bruise on Tharkay's neck with satisfaction. 

"Why did you not say anything before, Tenzing?" 

Tharkay shrugs, although the movement is a little constrained by Laurence's heavy limbs. "I asked you to come away with me. I only asked Sara once, you know, before running away. I thought," he pauses, licks his lips which Laurence quite enjoys watching- how had he not noticed before, how much he enjoyed watching him- "I thought you knew of my feelings, and felt sorry for me. And when you asked me to marry you, I did become confused. I thought that finally things were working out- but you never kissed me, and you drew away from me when we were sleeping. I never cared about the estate, you know. I only cared about it if you were in it." 

Laurence kisses him softly in apology. "I am sorry. I was convinced I was molesting you, quite against your will, when you were asleep. I did want to marry you, I just needed some time to think about what that would mean." 

Tharkay looks exasperated. "Only you would need time to think about marrying someone includes kissing them. How on God's green earth did you ever become intimate with Roland?" At Laurence's hiding his face in the pillows, he snorts. "Never mind, she told me already. Trying to give me advice, really. I should have taken it." He says reflectively, yawning and closing his eyes. 

"It is a good thing that door decided to jam, is it not?" Tharkay says sleepily. At Laurence's embarrassed pause, he wakes up and looks accusatory. 

Laurence coughs in embarrassment. Tharkay waits expectantly. "I jammed a pin in the doorknob." He admits. "I think I might be able to get it out, given enough time." 

Tharkay laughs next to him. "Damn your tactical mind, Will. I never had a chance." 

"There is the other room." He defends, fingers moving again along the mark. "It has a door too."

Tharkay pats the closest part of Laurence he can reach, an elbow. "Yes, yes." Eyelids droop as he visibly slides into sleep. Laurence slides his face against his neck, where the smell of Tharkay's skin is thick and rich, and falls asleep too.


	15. Chapter 15

He wakes up slowly. The curtains are moving again in the brisk morning air, although it is still dark outside. Laurence is still wrapped around Tharkay, deliciously naked. Laurence climbs out of bed, the cold air shocking on his skin. He relieves himself, washes his hands and cleans his teeth. He shoves the sad mess of their clothes to the side of the room, resolving not to meet the eyes of any of the laundresses later. 

"Mm, cold." Tharkay complains faintly as he sneaks back into bed, covering Tharkay as he lies on his back. Laurence bites his way along his collarbone, nipping and licking. "I did not know you would be this interested in bruises, Will." He says, bringing his hands up too Laurence's hair and holding on. Laurence makes an abashed noise and stills. Tharkay chuckles. "That did not mean stop." 

"Do you like it?" He asks. He wants Tharkay to say yes, but there are other things he likes too. 

Tharkay considers, his fingers moving through Laurence's hair smoothly. "Do not break the skin, and I like it." 

Laurence can live with that. 

Laurence returns to his collarbone, flexing languidly against Tharkay. He can feel him stiffening against Laurence's stomach, but this time he doesn't want to rush. His fingers are still in his hair, languidly combing. Laurence moves down his chest and stomach, tracing the faint whorls of blue black tattoo with his tongue. His stomach is ridged and firm, although Laurence manages to pick up little folds of skin to worry with his teeth. Tharkay gasps, his fingers tightening in his hair, when he arrives at his groin. Laurence noses happily at his hip, the sharp cut of his pelvis. He can't resist, and bites hard at the flare of his pelvic bone. 

Tharkay smacks him lightly on the shoulder. Laurence looks up guiltily. "I did not break-" 

"I know you did not, Will." He replies lazily, eyes half lidded again. "But there are other things that I would like your mouth for, besides making me limp around today." Laurence's mouth goes abruptly dry at the thought. He'd love to make his gait uneven. He could push on his bruises unobtrusively later and make him gasp. Or he could give Tharkay another reason to walk gingerly. Would he allow- can Laurence ask- could he bite Tharkay's shoulder while he's- "Oh, Will, I can see you thinking. You are going to be the death of me." His tone is fond. 

Maybe later, Laurence decides. Once he's given adequate thought and preparation to the matter. 

Laurence returns to his first thought. He has learned from last night, and sucks Tharkay smoothly down. Tharkay mutters obscenely under him, legs straightening reflexively around Laurence's body and then opening up to allow him access. Laurence can only pick out one word in ten, and even that makes him blush. Tharkay's hands return to his hair, holding on firmly. 

He hums happily, and Tharkay's voice grows desperate. His fingers clench in his hair demandingly. Laurence's jaw aches, but he keeps on. He loves Tharkay pushing him around to where he wants him. 

Now that he's paying more attention he can recognize better when Tharkay is about to climax and disengages slightly, Tharkay's grip allowing him. The salty bitter taste floods his mouth and he swallows eagerly. It still puddles on his hips, saliva and emission both. Tharkay commands, unexpectedly imperious drawing room accent frosting every syllable, his fingers firm again in his hair, "You have quite the mess to clean up, Captain Laurence." 

Laurence has to close his eyes in a rush of desire. "Yes, sir." He whispers, setting to his task. 

When he's done with every last drop, and Tharkay looks satisfied, he noses his way back up. "Please sir," he begs, "Just your hand- yes- there- sir, so good-" as he shudders over Tharkay's supine body, gratefully. But it's when Tharkay strikes out, quick as a snake, and bites hard enough to bruise his shoulder, that Laurence climaxes. 

He comes shockingly hard. It curls through him like waves, cresting and falling, his eyes rolling back in his head with the force. 

He collapses again, trying not to crush Tharkay but unable to muster up much strength. "You are heavy, are you not, Will?" Tharkay says, pushing at his shoulders. "I thought you would be-" At this he stops, muscles slightly tensing, no doubt thinking he's given too much away. 

Laurence just leans to the side, sliding down so his main weight is off Tharkay's ribcage. He hums cheerfully. "I thought you would be a talker," he offers, and Tharkay relaxes. "I was not wrong, Tenzing. Was some of that Durzagh? Or Erse? I thought I heard some poetry." 

"Oh, like you have room to speak, you Navy shirt lifter. Do you like to get bossed around?" At Laurence's embarrassed look, he smiles. "I do not mind, Will. I only want to know what I am in for. Should I call you Mr. Laurence, and pretend that you are my midshipman? Criticize the knot of your neckcloth, and punish you for it?" At Laurence's excited smile, he laughs. The sound is shockingly loud, sharp and bright, and Laurence treasures it. "You are a one, are you not, Will?" He asks, and kisses him. 

 

Temeraire is drowsing in the morning sun when Laurence approaches him, jubilant with his news. 

"My dear, we are getting married." 

Temeraire flicks a tail. "Yes, Laurence, I know." His wing reaches up to shade his face. 

Laurence feels like this is an insufficient response to his joy. "I mean to say, in truth, we are getting married. Can you help us set a date?" Temeraire's wing slides down enough so that a great blue eye can be seen. Laurence can plainly tell that he looks evasive. "Temeraire?" 

"I already picked out the coats, tablecloths, flowers, dishes, and the date already. Does the fifteenth of August work for you? Admiral Roland had said it was the easiest to arrange for leave. We can change it if you want-" this said in the tones of a generous concession- "but the florists will charge us a penalty, so we should keep it." He says in a rush. 

Gobsmacked, Laurence opens and closes his mouth a few times. Finally he reaches out and pats Temeraire affectionately. "Very good, my dear. Very good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm joirerson on tumblr!


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